


A Ladder's Something to Appreciate in a Two Story Library

by BeforeCrimson



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Explicit Sex, M/M, PWP, Violent Sex, plot what plot?, this is a normal thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeforeCrimson/pseuds/BeforeCrimson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no summary, it's just sex, that's all it is. Hannibal Lecter and Jim get it on in his office and, really, would it happen any other way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ladder's Something to Appreciate in a Two Story Library

Jim cried out in pained pleasure as his head was jerked up and back by the hair so far his spine arched and twisted so his cheek was on the shoulder of the man behind him. He panted heavily and his fingers curled into claws, though it didn’t do him any good, tied up at the wrists to the second-to-bottom rung of the library ladder with his shirt. A soft, whining keen fell from his lips when the cock inside him hit his prostate hard with each thrust in this new, exaggerated angle. Too overcome to properly form any thoughts or words at all, only just enough of a vague idea of one solidifying in his mind that this would _not_ be the last time this happened.

A low purr by his ear pulled him out of his own sensation, just barely, enough to be aware and attempt to process what he was hearing, “I have told you not to challenge me, James.” Each word was punctuated by another thrust into him, another hitch of his breath, caught in his throat, let out like a girlish gasp.

Jim, of course, could never let well enough alone and twisted suddenly, despite the fact it increased the pain in his scalp beyond the threshold of pleasure, and bit into the neck far too close to his teeth in the first place, breaking skin and leaving the man bleeding. Grinning widely Jim licked and suckled at the blood-stained skin, smirking at the irony of it all.

“Funny _you_ should be the main course after all these years, _hm_ , Hannibal?” He cackled, cut off suddenly when his face was thrust roughly against the carpeted floor, hard enough to make him a bit dizzy, just on the brink of unconsciousness. It was a warning and he knew very well Hannibal had absolutely no qualms about making him black out one way or another and taking his own pleasure from his unmoving, but still instinctively responsive, body.

Hannibal moved his hand from the back of Jim’s head to pull his hips up and against his own, then lay a hand on Jim’s back, pressing him into the ground with the entirety of his weight, which was, at this angle, far more than Jim could wriggle out from underneath; and Hannibal knew it, all for better leverage to pound into the man’s ass. He knew Jim could occasionally cum untouched, from prostate stimulation alone, and by occasionally he, of course, meant with other people. It happened rather often with him, if only for the fact he never _let_ Jim be touched like that without being begged for it, and Jim was rarely in any state of mind to deign to beg for anything, not with Hannibal. Not with a man who’d see through his nearly impeccable acting. They’d known each other for far too long, ever since Hannibal had become a surgeon and Jim was barely more than a boy, but no less deadly for it.

The two had been drawn to each other, of course, it would have been odd had they not, the two of them serial killers, though in entirely different senses. Jim didn’t kill on his own, not if he could help it, though when he did, he reveled in it the same way Hannibal did, though perhaps in a more base sense at times. Hannibal made each and every one of his kills personal, in one way or another, even the choosing of his victims had a personal motive behind it, as rudeness was, of course, abhorrent in his eyes. But, they’d known each other for years now, over a decade, and Jim had been the reason he hadn’t been found out sooner, just that once very early on, and ever since then he’d thought to take personal liberties with the therapist’s, then surgeon’s, time. Booking appointments or ‘stealing’ others’ with a ‘phone call from Dr. Lecter’s secretary,’ though he always stayed well within the limits of his twenty-four hour cancellation notice policy, so he could never _really_ fault him or deem him rude… As Jim very well knew.

But then again, just because he hadn’t been rude, didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying, and the man knew just all the wrong ways to press his buttons. Perhaps Hannibal so easily laid his person suit to the side with Jim, felt free to attack and dominate and anything else his heart desired, leaving scars sometimes on both old scar tissue as well as previously unblemished skin, because they were two sides to the same coin, personal and not, cold and hot, impulsive and restrained, though they both thought through every possible outcome of a circumstance. There was no way either of them could ever be called imbecilic.

 Jim cried out, sounding pained, bringing Hannibal back to summation of their usual dance, it would end soon. He could feel it in his gut the same way he felt an aria coming to end or an orchestra reaching their finale. It ended all the same anyway, with pleasure, if it was done right at least, and to be sure, he and Jim were some of the best. Hell, Jim came prepared half the time knowing he could manipulate Lecter, and that Hannibal would let himself be manipulated, at which point it was impossible to tell who was manipulating who and if there even was manipulation any more or if they were simply two old professionals who knew the steps to their dance by heart and could perform blindfolded and deaf.

A low moan from Hannibal’s throat and Jim keened, stretching his back as he arched again, pressing against Hannibal, meeting his thrust and squeezing around him. His thighs were trembling with pleasure and exertion, they’d been at this for just under an hour now and the pain in his knees was a dull ache, unlike the fiery pain they’d be in the morning from the rug burn he’d surely have there, and likely on his chest too. He hoped Hannibal was discomforted in the morning too by rug burn. But, either way, Jim writhed, pulling and straining against the silk shirt tied artfully around his wrists, keeping them in place at the ladder, only stopping when he felt Hannibal’s teeth in his shoulder, biting down hard enough to draw quite a bit of blood, the shock and pain, as well as the precision slide of cock against his prostate forced him into pleasurable spasms of muscles as he babbled some gibberish Gaelic into the carpet as he came, not one of those words being Hannibal’s name.

But that was alright, because Hannibal didn’t say his name either when he came, with a roar that was more befitting an attacking tiger than a man, just like always. They were perfectly fine with each other, neither fantasizing about someone else (that always left another scar to even pretend to, because they were both possessive bastards), just something they never did. They never yelled each other’s names in climax, just like they never kissed on the lips while one was inside the other. Well, when Hannibal was inside Jim. Because Jim never cared who ‘topped’ and Hannibal hated to be anything but.

But now, when he was untying Jim, Hannibal lay soft, soothing kisses on the red marks made by the shirt on his wrists, turning him over onto his back and letting him just lay there panting for a bit before leaning in and kissing him sweetly. Jim purred happily, very much like a cat, and lazily stroked along the back of his head, tangling his fingers in Hannibal’s hair. They were only this nice to each other in post-coital bliss, but that was alright. Neither would have it any other way. Jim would stay for dinner, at Hannibal’s insistence, they’d likely sleep together again, sometimes they’d even fuck against a couch or sometimes a wall, maybe even a shower in the morning, and after breakfast Jim would trounce off once more until he popped in again, unexpected as usual, but no more rude than usual, and make a mess of Hannibal’s pristine desk or carpet or even once up in the second story of the library in his office after he’d ‘made’ Hannibal chase him up the ladder and hold him down as he fucked him.

This was their way, and they were both more than happy with the arrangement, when Hannibal could be as brutal as he liked and Jim could give into his more masochistic side without anyone seeing him like that but Hannibal. And, well, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that, Hannibal would never tell a soul.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story up on AO3, so any criticism would be welcomed.
> 
> Kudos feed the sexy times fire and Comments buy the lube and condoms.


End file.
